


The Best Birthday Ever

by DracoFidus



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoFidus/pseuds/DracoFidus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles' Eighth birthday was his favourite memory</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Birthday Ever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littleotter73](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleotter73/gifts).



> LittleOtter73 challenged me to write a 500 word fic about Giles' favourite childhood memory as her birthday present. This is what came out. (Technically it's 505 words but shhh)

Giles lay back on his sofa and closed his eyes. Today was his birthday. Many years ago, on this exact day he had created the most beautiful memories. He had gone with his father on a fishing trip, just a small outing to the lake nearby; but it had stayed with him to this day.

Rupert ran across the field, letting his hands trail behind him like streamers. A soft breeze lifted his hair up from his head and his laughter echoed across the empty countryside. It was just him and his dad. No-one else. A picnic by the lake. Perhaps he’d catch his first fish.

“Slow down Rupert!” His father called as he reached the crest of a small ridge. So he stopped and turned round. There in the field below him strolled his father, a look of wondrous enjoyment lighting up his features. They didn’t see enough of each other if they were honest. Work in London took up most of his father’s time and school took up most of his. When he caught up with him he grasped his hand and they strolled the rest of the way to the lakeside. Hands clasped together, Rupert’s tiny hand safe in his father’s large, coarse one.

When they arrived at the water’s edge his dad laid out the picnic basket and fishing rods and Rupert draped a tartan mat over the rocky ground. They sat for a while, watching the ripples of the water, watching their rods bob gently. Until he got a bite. Suddenly his father was there, helping him reel it in, watching the fish rise from the water, its scales shining like pure silver.

“You did it Rupes. You caught a fish of your own.” His father whispered gently in his ear and his face lit up.

“Can we eat it dad?” He whispered back, not wanting to break the sanctity of the moment.

“Sure. I’ll just go and fetch some firewood. You keep an eye on my rod now, if it moves, shout.” His dad said, standing up.

When the fire was roaring Rupert gutted the fish, his dads hand over his own, guiding the knife. He roasted it on a spit above the fire and ate it before it was an hour dead. The most delicious fish he had ever eaten. Freshly caught and seasoned with pride. After they had eaten they lay back on the mat and watched the clouds. Ruperts head resting on his father’s chest. Strong arms pointing out shapes in the sky; stroking his hair; telling him how proud he was of his son. Time passed slowly, moments trickled by like hours, but finally it was time to go home. They packed up their things and began the long walk back. Rupert was soon tired though and his dad bent down and gave him a piggyback.

When they got home it was time for bed and Rupert slept like a log. Dreams full of fish and pride and love.

It was the best birthday ever.


End file.
